


What Happens In The Forbidden Forest

by FangQueen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Arachnophobia, Canon Divergent, Frottage, Good!Draco, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Snogging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 07:09:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10212242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangQueen/pseuds/FangQueen
Summary: He couldn't find any particular reason why he was being punished as if he were still a petulant child--why he currently found himself on detention, in the Forbidden Forest, with one of the biggest thorns in his backside for the past several years.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [incorrect19days](https://archiveofourown.org/users/incorrect19days/gifts).



> Written in response to a request from my dear Birdie ([@incorrect19days](http://incorrect19days.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr). She asked for “Ron/Draco, in detention together in the Forbidden Forest.” I’m so sorry for how fucking long it took me to get this to you--nearly a whole goddamn year, like wow--but I hope you enjoy it!~ <3

He just couldn’t understand. Really, the _nerve_.

Hadn’t he proven himself already? Apparently defecting from the Death Eaters, abandoning all he’d ever known, and almost single-handedly staging what they were now calling the Slytherin Rebellion wasn’t good enough for these people anymore. Sure, maybe he was talking himself up a bit more than was due, but really, half the intelligence they’d received on the other side towards the end there had come from him! He’d fought right alongside all those goody-goody Dumbledore’s Army folks that last day, shown just as much devotion to the cause as they! Of course, he’d made sure his parents were taken to safety first, but that was beside the point. That was just familial honor. And not to mention, it wasn’t as if he was a real student at this school or anything, up for corporal punishments and all that. This “eighth year” bit was just some rubbish they’d concocted to help anyone who was willing to finish the education they’d all sorely missed out on, and while he was thankful for that, he’d already been living like a post-graduate up until they’d come back in September. He was used to running his own show, existing as he pleased--not under the thumb of parents or teachers anymore. Hell, he’d seen far more than the average student before he’d even finished out his _sixth_ year! And he was a grown man! Had been for nearly a year and half, by wizarding standards! And...Yeah, no, he couldn't find any particular reason why he was being punished as if he were still a petulant child--why he currently found himself on detention, in the Forbidden Forest, with one of the biggest thorns in his backside for the past several years.

Weasley plodded along beside him as they made their way deeper and deeper into the Forest, looking just as sullen about being there as his blonde counterpart--maybe even more so. Wasn’t this far in expressingly off-limits? Although, Draco supposed they figured two of-age war heroes would be able to handle themselves, especially after all they’d experienced to date. Pity they didn’t _also_ think that made placing them in detention in the first place truly absurd. Then again, the detention itself was probably just an excuse; he was certain they would’ve eventually asked one of the “veterans” to perform this task even without it.

During the Final Battle, the acromantula colony that had taken residence amidst these trees had been forced out by the Dark Lord’s followers, seizing control of their nest as a base of operations. No one had seen any evidence of them since. Newly-appointed Headmistress McGonagall wanted to know if they were still out there somewhere, especially considering the vicious way they’d attacked both student and Death Eaters alike on that fateful day, in their fury over the whole ordeal. Despite the fact that they’d denied allegiance to Hagrid--the only person who’d ever been able to talk any sense into them--following their previous leader’s demise, she had high hopes that, if found, he’d be able to reason with them and ensure another such outbreak could be prevented. Why the oaf wasn’t searching for them himself, Draco couldn’t say; although, perhaps he was, and the place was just too vast to canvas fully on his own. That’s where he and the Weasel came in, he supposed. Still didn’t seem right, though. However, he’d thought as much when they’d done this to him in his first year as well, and look how much good it had done him then.

The pair had trudged on, nothing but the snap of twigs and leaves under their feet to listen to, for as long as the Slytherin could stand. The only words they’d spoken since being dropped off at the entrance were to cast heating charms on their clothes, to ward off the chill of the evening, and that was a much longer time without speaking than Draco was used to in this particular Weasley’s company. While he wasn’t necessarily his favorite person in the world, he figured he’d much prefer suffering through a conversation with him than being driven mad by the deafening silence surrounding them.

“So...what are you in for?” A sudden loud crunch of gravel to his left told Draco that Weasley had jumped at the sound of his voice. He attempted to keep the grin that had appeared at knowing he’d startled him just short of cocky.

“What?”

“Detention. What are you in for?”

“Oh. Well…”

As he stepped around a tree root, Draco glanced at the male beside him. The ginger didn’t look particularly convinced as to why he’d received this sentence, either, which was oddly comforting. At least he wasn’t the only one who was outraged. However, he also didn’t look like he wanted to say anything at all to him--which, honestly, Draco couldn’t blame him for. They weren’t on friendly terms, by any means. As anyone could've guessed, Weasley hadn't been the only person to voice his doubts about Draco’s side-switching--he’d been one of _many_ , in fact--but he _had_ been pretty much the only one left recently that was still outspoken about it. As of late, whenever they got into one of their infamous squabbles, he was quick to point out that there was still a tell-tale tattoo on his left arm. So it wasn’t exactly like Draco was thrilled to be forcing niceties with him because of that, but what other options did they have?

“Oh, c’mon, out with it already.”

The redhead scoffed a little under his breath. Draco could practically feel him rolling his eyes. “Alright, alright...I got caught drinking with Seamus. We’d snuck back some firewhiskey after the last Hogsmeade weekend,” that they hadn't chosen to share with _all_ their fellow eighth years, Draco noted with a twinge of envy, “and we were...pretty toasted when Filch found us trying to nick a snack from the kitchens the other night.”

Draco waited, thinking there might have been more to the story than that. When nothing else came, he asked incredulously, “That's all?”

“Yeah, why?”

“But I don't understand...You’re an adult now. You should be allowed to do that sort of thing, school or no.”

“Yeah, well, McGonagall doesn’t seem to agree with you.”

“Figures.” McGonagall wasn’t the type to allow _anyone_ to have what they’d deem as a “good time,” no matter their age, in Draco’s opinion. He was willing to concede that she was a great leader, a hell of a dueler, sure, but he didn’t think she’d know a good time if it bit her on the arse.

A pause. Then: “What are you, you know…?”

“In for?”

The redhead laughed quietly to himself. “Yeah, that.”

“I hexed McLaggen,” he deadpanned.

“Really?”

“Yeah, you didn't hear about it? I thought I’d be safe from detention for something like that, considering he’s only here to help with the rebuild, and it isn’t actually a student anymore, but apparently not. It was just a Jelly-Legs, anyway, nothing serious.”

“What’d you do that for?”

Because he’d crossed the line when talking about Draco’s parents one too many times, and he’d decided he’d had enough of his smart mouth. Of course, now that he thought about it, he was probably lucky they hadn’t just had the Aurors come for him, seeing as it was no longer a fight between students, as he’d mentioned himself. But it had only been to teach McLaggen a lesson--and to let him and everyone present at the time know that, no matter what he said about them himself, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were off-limits, and anyone within his earshot should be careful what they say from now on. As their son, he felt it was only _his_ business to judge them for their lives and their choices. But that wasn’t a topic he felt like getting into with Weasley at the moment--because Salazar knew they’d be at it for hours--so instead, he simply replied:

“He’s an ass, and he was asking for it, what can I say?”

It was a testament to how much Weasley still hated the bloke himself that his only response to that was an amenable grunt. Apparently there was no hope of being given a pass on trying to take both a Weasley male’s Quidditch position _and_ his girl--well, _ex_ -girl these days--even if there were now years and an entire war separating them from said incidents. Made Draco wonder just how long the Gryffindor would hold a grudge against _him_ for all he’d done and said to him. Probably to their graves.

Although, he could definitely see the appeal of Cormac McLaggen, looks-wise, and why Granger might’ve entertained the idea for the brief period that she had. Great as that train of thought could be in the dark seclusion of his bed curtains, however, it wasn’t something he needed to be thinking about _right now_. Still, his damn mouth had a tendency of running away with him, and before he could stop himself, he heard the words, “Hot, though,” fall from his lips.

“Huh?”

Shit. He’d hoped Weasley wouldn’t have heard. “McLaggen. Wouldn't be worth dealing with that personality, but he _is_ pretty hot.”

He heard his companion come to a full stop then, and he halted as well, turning to see Weasley staring back at him with a furrowed brow, confusion written quite plainly all over his pale, freckled face. It might’ve been the first time they’d actually looked at each other since entering the woods. Draco could see he was really trying to think of a way to say something, and, in hindsight, he should’ve known from a mile off what the question was going to be.

“Are you gay?”

Draco’s sudden bark of a laugh rang throughout the clearing. The sound gradually--awkwardly--died down as he observed the concerned curiosity with which Weasley was regarding him. “Oh. You're serious.” When the redhead did nothing other than continue to stare at him and await the answer, he rolled his eyes and replied with an overdramatic sigh, “Yes, I am. Very much so.”

“Ah...Alright then...”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t sure he’d liked Weasley tone when he’d said that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing! I just didn’t know, is all.”

“You _didn't know_ I was gay?”

“No!”

“ _Really_?”

Draco couldn’t have looked more flabbergasted if he’d tried. What he’d initially interpreted as a dismissal of his answer, he realized now, as he peered more closely at the subtleties in Weasley’s body language--how he was biting his thumbnail, his cheeks flaring red to match his hair, avoiding the Slytherin’s gaze--was actually...embarrassment? At having not known something that even Draco himself would admit was probably really obvious, or something else entirely? He wasn’t certain, but what he _did_ know was that he found it very hard to believe Weasley hadn’t been privy to it prior to this conversation. Draco had come out in their fourth year, and he’d always assumed everyone knew. He hadn’t exactly done his best to keep it a secret even before that. When he’d dated Theodore Nott at the end of fifth year, had Weasley really not noticed? Then again, it was asking a little much to think that he would be truly _fascinated_ with every single thing Draco did on a daily basis. That, and the Gryffindor had never seemed the most insightful when it came to emotions and romance, especially when it affected him directly, let alone anyone around him. So no, perhaps he hadn’t noticed.

“Well, it's not like I’d ever actually thought about it!”

Now _that_ was a lie, and he bloody well knew it. There’d been plenty of rumors flying around about his and Granger’s break up. About _why_ , specifically, they might’ve chosen to end it after such a relatively short time together. And Draco, for one, was of the opinion that many of them were based in truth. So if he’d been hearing things correctly, yes, that was a _bold-faced_ lie. And if he _hadn’t_ , well still, far be it from him to pass up an opportunity to tease the Weasel.

“Suuuure you haven’t--”

“Fucking hell--”

“Just keep telling yourself that--”

“Oh, sod off, will you?”

Draco took the shoulder to his chest in stride as Weasley brushed roughly past him and further on down the path. He really couldn’t be bothered with the rude gesture--not when he’d been offered the sight of Weasley shoving his hands indignantly into his pockets and blushing _even redder_ , if that was humanly possible. He followed him, jogging lightly to catch up, but not before flashing a shit-eating grin at his retreating back. Once they were shoulder-to-shoulder again, he saw that the flush had reached the tops of his ears. Weasley returned his glance nervously, his blue eyes wide and bright against the current hue of his skin, and Draco laughed.

“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you? You’re so obvious, you know.”

“Am not! I just…”

“Just what?”

“I mean...You don't think about _me_ , or-or anything like that, right?”

Ah, yes. Wonderful. He’d had the conversation many times before: the “is-the-fact-that-we’re-on-the-same-Quidditch-team-and-we-share-the-same-showers-going-to-be-a-problem” conversation. Different scenario, same basic substance. Draco had always been irritated at the gall, really--the _suggestion_ that his orientation automatically made him attracted to every male within reach. Somehow, though, he didn’t think that was exactly what Weasley was getting at. There wasn’t the typical underlying revulsion in his voice.

Unfortunately, the truth of the matter was that he didn’t know how to answer that. He’d resolved, lately, to try to be more open and honest with people. Might convince them to be a little more inclined to believe him about _other things_ , who knows. But in this instance, he couldn’t do that. It was too risky. Because the thing about it was...he _did_. Well, had. A time or two. Nothing crazy, nothing serious! He hadn’t ever really paid the redhead any mind until recently. Until he’d seen him at that battle, so valiant, and just so...so _good_. Which was insane, and went against nearly everything that made him who he was, so he didn’t like to think of it, of course! He’d tried to wipe it from his mind on several occasions. But it just kept coming back: an image, frozen in time, of the Gryffindor raising his wand with a confident arm, sparks flying from the end as he roared out a counterspell in a way that only a strong surge of magic could produce...

No, he certainly couldn’t tell him about that, and he decided his customary arrogance was the only way out of this: “Please, Weasley, I take offence to that. I resent the idea that, because I'm gay, I _must_ be falling all over myself for every single cock that passes by. I do have _some_ standards.” Thankfully, Weasley chose not to retort--or simply didn’t have anything to say to that. Whatever it was, Draco was grateful, because this wasn’t a topic they needed to dwell on.

They’d reached the part of the forest where everything was far more overgrown, and where the path was mostly non-existent. The thicket slowed them down quite considerably and forced them to continue on single-file. Draco took the lead, trying his best to maneuver through the brush and over the boulders blocking their way, having to traverse the terrain on his hands and knees in some areas. He swore loudly when, at one point, a branch whipped back to smack him in the face--and threw an ill-mannered gesture over his shoulder when he heard Weasley laughing at his expense. By the time they’d reached even footing again, he was dirty, sweaty (despite the chill in the air), and struggling for breath.

The glade they’d entered was enormous, and Draco thought it prudent for them to take the opportunity to allow their bodies to catch up with them while they could. He could hear Weasley bend over behind him, hands on his knees and panting. That was too undignified for a Malfoy, and thus he chose to stand stock still, his head tilted back, taking deep, even breaths in through his nose as best he could.

That was probably why he’d noticed it first. As soon as he looked up, he caught sight of the translucent threads hanging far above them, the faint moonlight filtering in through the treetops winking off of their silvery essence. There were some that were strung across the expanse like tightropes. Others had been woven into large bundles, most burst open, with a few that appeared to still contain something, but _what_ , exactly, he wasn’t sure. He spun in place, taking in the awe of what he now realized wasn’t just a clearing, but a domed web--one that had several areas that were in an obvious state of disrepair. Many of the separate webs contained inside the whole had been smashed, and the more he looked, the more everything appeared old, dusty, and gray, rather than the shimmering moistness he would’ve expected. He also noticed--as his stomach performed a sickening somersault--that there were scattered bones of varying size and type, that appeared to have been once kept in neat piles in several nooks and crannies about the place.

“Well, I think we found their old nest…” he mused aloud, turning to his counterpart.

What he’d expected to find, in that moment, was Weasley observing the area, as he had been. Perhaps looking a tad disgusted, as he did, at having discovered the evidence of their… _past kills_ littering the area. What he _hadn’t_ expected was to see that freckled hand shake so badly as it ran through his ginger locks, smoothing them back on his head. To see a face that had gone so pale and sickly that Draco questioned if he might suddenly become ill on the ground right there. To see his eyes, wide and filled with fear of the most primal nature, casting about as if there were a thousand invisible enemies surrounding him...

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Draco asked, brow furrowing. He’d never seen Weasley act this way, in all the years they’d known each other. Where they were wasn’t the most pleasant of locals, surely, but the nest looked to be pretty well empty to him. There was no reason to be afraid, so long as the acromantula they were searching for weren’t around.

“I-I...I…” Weasley was stuttering like he’d lost the ability to speak English altogether. Initially, he wasn’t looking at Draco, but when the blonde repeated his question--more firmly, this time--his attention snapped right to him as if he’d forgotten he was there. “I…” he faltered once more. It appeared that he was attempting to cover up this odd reaction he was having, straightening himself and shoving his trembling hands into the pockets of his coat, like he had earlier. “I...I’m…”

“Spit it out! What the fuck is happening to you?”

Weasley finally mumbled a full sentence in reply, but so quietly that Draco could only make out the words “I’m afraid.”

“You’re _what_?”

“I’m afraid of spiders, alright?!”

And suddenly a whole bunch of things started making sense. How jumpy Weasley had been since they’d entered the forest, how anxious he’d looked when they’d been informed of their task. Draco couldn’t help it: a giggle escaped from his throat, and he quickly clapped a hand to his mouth. But it was no use, he was soon laughing out loud, so violently that was forced to double over, clutching his sides, despite the dirty looks Weasley was now throwing him.

“You’re afraid of spiders?!” he asked once he was finally able to articulate around his mirth.

“Sh-shut up! It’s not _that_ crazy!”

“But it is! It _is_! All the shit we’ve seen-- _you’ve_ seen, and you’re still--you’re afraid of _spiders_?!”

“But, I-I mean...these aren’t just any spiders we’re talking about! They’re _huge_ , you know! And they _eat people_!”

“So you’re not scared of the tiny ones, then?” Weasley cursed under his breath and averted his eyes, and Draco let out a dubious, “Ha! Holy shit, you _are_ , aren’t you?! Oh Merlin, this is too much…” He wiped the perspiration from his eyes with the sleeves of his jumper as his laughter began to die down. Then a thought occurred to him: “Does anyone else know? I mean, why would they send you in here if they knew that?”

“They did that because I…” He hummed in frustration again and kicked a rock beside his booted toe. This was more interesting by the minute, this rather childish Ronald Weasley that Draco didn’t think he’d seen before, or at least hadn’t ever noticed if he had. “Other people know, I just don’t like to talk about it, so I guess McGonagall...She just didn’t think of it.”

“And _you_ didn’t think to say no?”

“Well, no, of course not, because then I’d have to...talk about it…”

“So you honestly thought spending the next couple hours shitting your breeches would be better?!”

The question hung in the air between them, but went unanswered, because Weasley’s eyes were no longer avoiding Draco’s own, but staring rather pointedly, big as saucers, at something just over his head. The thrill of fear that shot down his spine rendered him temporarily immobile. He knew what it was before he even turned around, before the insect-like clicking sounds met his ears...

To say that the creature _loomed_ was a gross understatement. Draco felt his heart hammering against his ribcage as he gazed up into those eight menacing eyes, black and smooth as onyx and staring unblinkingly back. It clacked its mandibles, venom glistening at the pointed tips. The action caused him to take a step back, then another as it lunged for him, till he’d rammed straight into Weasley’s broad chest. The taller boy behind him was shaking again like to start an earthquake, and Draco had enough presence of mind to draw his wand, but not nearly enough to fire anything off.

The spider regarded the pair with a malice Draco was sure already spelled their inevitable doom, then said in a booming tenor he hadn’t quite expected: “Humans? Students of the school perhaps? What are you doing here, in our midst, when you must know it is expressly forbidden?”

 _Our_? Surely they couldn’t be that many more of them? No one had even been convinced, after that last battle, that they hadn’t simply been forced into extinction. And this nest didn’t look kept-up at all! But then he realized, with a paralyzing horror, just how very, very wrong that assumption had been…

A line of them rose, as if on cue, from the depths of the web beyond. Spiders of all shapes and sizes soon flooded the clearing--some smaller than the one in front of them, but some larger still, the size of two burly cart horses put together, big enough to crush the cringing wizards with barely any effort involved, if they had a mind to. Weasley’s high-pitched whine and desperate push against his back told him they were entering from behind as well, but he didn’t need either to be coerced to move forward again: he’d heard the crinkling of their hairy legs against the grass and branches and felt his spine melt right out of his body.

“I ask again,” the creature in front of them interjected into their moment of scrambling terror, closer now and all the more loud and frightening for it, “what are you doing here?”

Draco fought for the strength to answer it’s inquiry, but found his mouth had completely stopped working. Weasley was cowering beside him, whimpering and very nearly clinging to his arm, and right now he really couldn’t blame him.

“Eat them!”

“Kill the humans!”

A cacophony of horrifying whispers rose up around them as yet more and more spiders descended, circling them and effectively preventing any hope of an escape. He clung to the hand Weasley was thrusting pitifully into his own without a second thought, as if his life depended on it. They were wizards; Draco himself knew hexes that could reduce even these beasts to a fine ash in seconds! But the wand in his opposite hand felt like nothing but a dead weight in the presence of this pack.

“W-we,” he tried, swallowed, then continued, “we were sent here by the new Headmistress. To see if you all were...here...or not.”

If the spider had had an eyebrow to raise, it probably would’ve. The continued chittering of the others permeated the stretch of silence it provided them, but did not offer much in the way of comfort. “I see,” it finally replied, and the hoard’s noise died down a bit, as if waiting for a decision that Draco was pretty sure would, at this point, result in their immediate departure from this world. But as he stood there, breath bated like the rest of them, he began to think to himself that he was a _Malfoy_ , goddamnit, and he was going to fight this as best he could, or die trying.

And die it certainly seemed he would, once the great brute puffed himself up a bit and added, “After you all sent those ruffians in here in order to force us out?”

“Well, _we_ didn’t--”

“After our home was destroyed and we were forced to retaliate, and many of our brethren were lost? _Now_ you care to see if we’re ‘here.’ I imagine they sent you to finish the job the ones in black had started?”

“No!” Draco hurried to correct it, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat at the implication. He felt Weasley go rigid, and he knew he’d guessed it, too. All assurances of their death up to this point aside, this was the one thing that sealed their fate in Draco’s mind. Because what, exactly, would an angry, carnivorous animal clan wish to do with a pair of young men they strongly believed were here to get rid of them all...? “Th-that’s not...We just wanted to make sure you all were--”

“Dead?” the spider thought to have finished for him, and Draco felt his blood run cold. “I’m sure. Well, how about we play a little game of...what do you call it? ‘An eye for an eye.’”

The beat that followed felt like it lasted eons. The collective around them swelled in place, awaiting the command they were sure was about to come. Then:

“Get them.”

The attack they’d been anticipating began, and Draco found he’d completely lost the ability to think properly. He’d faced the Dark Lord himself, taken the Mark, and been given the task of murdering his own Headmaster. But there was nothing quite like having an entire mob of acromantulas rushing at him as one. The mass that surrounded them was such that they blacked his vision, blocking what little light there had been from the trees above. His wand hand was trembling so badly that he was positive that if he could even think of a spell right now, there was no way he’d be able to get the words out, and even so, it’d probably backfire on him. As he felt Weasley’s hand slip away from his, he prayed for something quick and relatively painless...

Then there came a cry of “ _Stupefy_!” from his side, and suddenly a blinding light shattered the darkness. One of the spiders to his right was knocked backwards by the blast, sending it careening into a tree trunk beyond, where it fell onto its back with a thud that shook the ground, its legs curling above it in defeat. He turned, then, and it was like a flash from the past. From that battle that had ended it all, the sight of Weasley’s wand arm extended, expression fierce and poised, despite the fear still shining in the whites of his eyes. Draco wasn’t sure when, exactly, the other had drawn--nor when he’d regained his backbone--but with a hasty shout of “Go, go, go!” from Weasley, he was off without another moment wasted on the thought.

The downed creature had left a crevice in its wake--one the others were now avoiding like the plague, lest they be dispatched of in like fashion. Draco dove for it, their one chance to make a run for it. Weasley was close behind, urging him on. He crouched under the million flailing spider limbs that still reached for him, trying his best to slide along the grass beneath them to safety, and was caught by one particularly shaggy leg that pinned him. He grimaced at the squirming in his stomach at the sensation of it touching him, even through his sweater, and tried to push the offending thing off. Luckily, a moment later, his ginger companion skidded past him and grabbed hold of his arm, yanking him along until they were finally breathing fresh air again, and then they were sprinting as if _Fiendfyre_ was hot on their tail.

First a mostly-ripped stretch of web at the edge of the glade, then a line of boulders, impeded their frenzy, but once they’d cleared both, they were off like rockets, egged on by the ever constant brush of spindly legs behind them. The Forest came alive with a symphony of crashes as the acromantula barrelled on after them, knocking over any trees and rocks that stood in their path, and the resulting screams from the boys fleeing from them. Draco dodged around trunks and over mounds, always the thought in the back of his mind that he couldn’t, _mustn’t_ allow himself to slip, because that would be the end. Even for all his Quidditch geekery, he’d never longed for a broom so much in his entire life. He was panting and shaking still, even as he ran, and from his periphery, he could see Weasley was in much the same boat. Gone was the gallant Gryffindor that had assisted them in making their daring escape; now he was pale as a ghost once more, a repetitive chant of “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” falling from his lips with every second step.

Occasionally, they were forced to separate, each time trying their best to wind their way back to each other. It wasn’t until they’d been running for several minutes that Draco finally recalled he had a _wand_ \--right about the time that he saw Weasley flick another _Stupefy_ over his shoulder. By the boom in the distance and the shriek of the spiders, it seemed it didn’t necessarily hit what he’d wanted it to, but it had had _some_ effect, anyway. For his part, Draco was surprised to find neither of them had dropped the bloody things in the process. He was just attempting to fire something himself when he saw it: one of the smaller arachnids--of course, no less terrifying, but still--had gained on the redhead, and was reaching out to snatch him around one frantically pumping calf. In a split second, a jinx was shooting from the tip of his wand: a _Locomotor Mortis_ that he’d barely even thought of, let alone realized he was uttering. It hit the creature square between the eyes, causing it to trip forward onto his face as its legs locked up beneath it. Startled by the sparks flying so close, Weasley looked first to Draco, then back at the spider wobbling around on the ground behind him. The blonde barely caught the brief flash of a grateful smile before they were firing again.

Draco thought to aim a good _Confringo_ their attackers’ way, but he recalled the numerous trees surrounding them and thus the damage that that might do, and thought better of it. Instead, he, too, threw a couple _Stupefies_ and even an _Incarcerous_ alongside Weasley’s own. Most of their spells ended up hitting shrubbery, rather than their intended targets--some fizzled out because they weren’t steady enough to perform them correctly--but they did each manage to get at least a few of the beasts to go down. Seeing the way their comrades had fallen caused the other acromantula to rethink the worthiness of this escapade, and soon the crowd had dwindled to only a handful, as far as Draco could make out whenever he chanced a glance behind him.

Even as his vision went spotty, he gulped great lungfuls of air that froze his esophagus on the way down, and low-hanging branches whipped at his face, he didn’t stop, not for a second. Even as he felt gravel almost loose his footing right out from under him, he kept going. Weasley was matching him pretty well, stride-for-stride--maybe even a touch ahead, if only for the slight additional length to his legs. But a sinking feeling was seeping into the runner’s high he’d hit, that they couldn’t keep going on like this all night--that eventually they’d have to stop, and when they did…

And then, suddenly, he was being distracted by distressed yelp from his partner. “Oh, shitshitshitshit _shit_!” Weasley hissed, slamming on his brakes just up ahead. Draco couldn’t tell what was making him stop from his position, but it was too close for him to do the same, and then he was slamming into him, the pair of them screaming as they went crashing onto the dirt below. Draco slid down till his arse hit first, then the back of his head, but he didn’t stop there. No, then he was tumbling, rolling, dust kicking up around him, and rocks clipping him on his way. His arms and legs tangled with Weasley’s, and for a moment, he didn’t know where he ended and the redhead began--not until they’d finally flopped in a heap, and he’d had some time to get his head to stop spinning.

It was only when he saw the--rather terrifying--sight of the spiders streaming over them that he realized they must’ve fallen in a ditch. There was half a tree trunk stuck into either side of it, like a bridge of sorts, and fortunately they’d landed just under it, so as to now be hidden from view. Whether the acromantula were aware of what had happened to them remained a mystery for the time being, however, and so they lay there for awhile, listening for any signal of their return over the sounds of their own labored breathing.

It took an uncommon amount of time for either of them to notice that Weasley had, in fact, ended up half on top of Draco. The latter chalked it up to all the commotion and the mind-numbing terror that came with running for one’s life. Of course, that didn’t stop him from blushing when Weasley finally realized it himself and pushed himself onto his hands and knees to give him what was probably supposed to be an apologetic expression, but looked more like a grimace. This prompted Draco to _further_ realize that his fists were still balled around the one thing he’d thought to cling to on his way down: that being the redhead’s jacket. Both quickly jumped away from each other after that, rampaging acromantula or not.

The forest was deadly quiet by that point compared to the prior ruckus, and so Draco tentatively crawled up to poke his head out from their hiding spot. Having surveyed the area for spiders, and found none, he gestured to his companion that all was well, and they pocketed their (thankfully unsnapped) wands and began making their way out.

Looking into the ditch from the sidelines, Draco could see that it wasn’t all that deep, despite how it had felt going down. It was miracle they’d managed to evade capture in it, truly. However, while it seemed they were now safe--as far as they could tell, anyway--they _hadn’t_ managed to save their clothing in the fall...Draco could practically feel every inch of caked-on dirt and grime--on his pants, all over his back, in his hair. His hands were tinted brown now, and when he looked to the Gryffindor--bent over and smacking the dust from his thighs--it was plain to see that he was in just as bad of shape. Weasley’s fiery locks stuck up in all directions, looking every bit the “wild child” Draco’s father had sworn to him when he was a toddler that that whole family was full of. For some reason, his mind reverted to that expression of pure, unadulterated horror on Weasley’s face, back in the clearing, and to the way he’d clutched Draco’s hand so desperately...He didn’t know if it was the lingering adrenaline, or what, but he couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that rose in his throat. Weasley paused in smoothing out his hair and turned to him, his eyes narrowing and his finger rising to point at him accusingly before he could even open his mouth.

“Don’t say it--”

“But you were _so_ \--”

“I swear, Malfoy, if you tell anyone--”

“Tell anyone _what_? That you’re afraid of the ‘scarwee spwiders’? That you quake in your boots whenever you see one, like a little toddler crying for his mum--?”

The next thing Draco knew, he was being shoved up against the nearest tree, Weasley’s hand held up in a gesture that asked for quiet. Okay, admittedly, that was low even for him--these were not spiders of the teeny tiny, mostly harmless variety that they were running from, and he’d been shrieking all the same--but he didn’t appreciate the manhandling regardless, and he struggled against the larger male’s hold on him until he was shushed. Then he noticed the way Weasley was swivelling his head around, and he tensed up himself as he realized he must’ve heard something Draco hadn’t.

They remained thusly for a couple minutes, neither of them courageous enough in that moment to attempt to move, lest they be discovered by their pursuers. Everything from the snap of a twig to the rustle of the wind through the canopy above had them jumping like field mice. Draco wondered idly how well a mammoth-sized spider could sneak up on them in the dark like this, and if they’d even hear it coming. It might just drop down from a branch over their heads, easy as that, and they’d be done-for. However, it became apparent after only a short while that they really were alone now, that the beasts had passed them and ventured deeper into the forest.

Draco thought to move himself, to initiate what should be their new mission: to get the fuck out of there as quickly as possible, before they were caught again. But he could still see the pallor in Weasley’s face, the way his eyes still darted about, and he knew he probably wasn’t ready for that yet. He also thought to maybe send up sparks, get the attention of someone at the castle who could, perhaps, fly in and rescue them, but he knew that would most likely attract unwanted attention as well, and so he promptly scrapped the idea. However, he did shift a bit, as the position he’d frozen in was becoming uncomfortable. He felt his head brush Weasley’s hand, laid flat on the trunk of the tree to keep Draco in place. The Gryffindor’s stiff arm flexed in response, and he adjusted himself as well.

He started when he felt it: Weasley’s leg sliding between his own, parting them, further pinning him to the bark behind. Suddenly, he was aware--jarringly so--of just how close they were. Close enough for him to count the freckles on Weasley’s cheeks, and to see the rise and fall of his chest with each breath. The strength he’d revealed earlier--the very same from that battle--had shown itself once more; Draco could see it in the hard line of his jaw, the sharpness of his gaze. He found himself truly fascinated, this time around, with how many different facets there were to Weasley’s being that he’d never known about all these years. Their increased time together as of late was making him finally blossom into a full-fledged person in Draco’s eyes, and he couldn’t help but be extremely attracted to it. And…

Oh. _Oh_. Oh no, this could be bad...He heard the little hum of his breath hitching long before he would’ve had the presence of mind to stop it. And then Weasley was looking at him, looking him in the eye, and he flushed a dark crimson under his scrutiny. Their shifting around had caused that knee to caress the underside of his manhood--gently, but just enough to make his groin tighten--and he silently begged, _prayed_ that the other couldn’t have possibly felt the responding throb of blood surging towards the area. Weasley’s expression told him otherwise, however. Once more, Draco thought to remove himself, but found he was trapped. He began to struggle again, before feeling solid, yet tender, hands come to rest at his sides. Then Weasley was slowly canting his hips, testing him, and it was all he could do to hide his face, his _reaction_ from view.

“Don't tease me, you ass,” he breathed quietly into the crook of the man’s neck, shivering when he both felt and heard Weasley gulp at the hot air brushing his skin.

The chuckle he forced out didn’t help to cover up the huskiness of his voice. “I thought you said you had standards.”

“Dear god, do you ever stop talking?” He knew very well that the Gryffindor could easily throw the same thing back at him, and so he hastily pressed their lips together before that could happen.

Weasley was a far better kisser than he'd imagined. Draco was pleasantly surprised to feel the other boy responding, with little hesitation to start. In fact, the second he'd forced them to take that first step, he’d heard his counterpart sigh, almost in relief, before pressing insistently back. Having witnessed the atrocity that was him snogging Brown a few years back--a series of images that he longed to viciously scrub from his mind’s eye--Draco had always assumed he was absolute bollocks at it. It had looked like he’d suction-cupped himself to her face! But perhaps Granger had permitted him a bit more helpful practise since then, because the way he suavely cupped Draco’s jaw, licking along his bottom lip till he opened up for him, made his toes curl in his stylish, muggle trainers.

The rumors he’d heard really must’ve all been true, if Draco had anything to say about it. There was no possible way he could believe otherwise, with how their tongues were now tangling in his mouth, and how Weasley seemed to be goaded on by every whisper of a moan Draco gave him. He could feel it against his hip, how hard Weasley was getting for him in return. It did maddening things to his insides to know that he was doing that to him: the boy that everybody had thought for so long was just “as expected,” all meat and potatoes and _Gryffindor_ and so boringly straight and vanilla that the very thought made Draco want to gag. Just the idea--the fantasy, really--that this could be something altogether private, that he could be one of few people in the world right now who knew him _just like this_ , that knew what he was _really_ like behind closed doors, made him feel boneless and entranced. Because all he’d heard about him thus far was _talk_ , no _action_ , and he didn’t know what to do with the concept that he might be some of the first _action_ there was at all.

As they rocked against each other, Weasley’s arms came to circle around Draco’s waist, and the blonde responded in kind, slinging his own around that freckled neck. The bark scratched at his back, and probably Weasley’s forearms as well, but neither of them paid it any mind. The warmth of the redhead’s earlier heating charm was rolling off him in waves, melding with Draco’s own, and making him feel hot and dizzy and so ridiculously turned on. He was riding that muscular thigh with abandon now, and was still reeling from how Weasley was rubbing himself off right back. He could feel the substantial girth of the Gryffindor’s member through their layers. Weasley tasted and smelled like the mud from the ditch; a hint of earthy musk in the midst of their passion. Draco couldn’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to have Weasley take him, right here and now, hard and rough against this tree. To have his Courageous Hero’s filthy hands mar his porcelain skin--and, dear _god_ , he needed help, but he wanted this, he wanted it so badly it hurt, and with the next enthusiastic stroke up his length, he was moaning, loud and needy, into Weasley’s mouth, and shuddering when he heard the likewise reply.

The sudden loud cracking of a nearby branch made Weasley start. “No no, please, don’t stop,” Draco panted when his warmth began to fade, then immediately regretted the sheer desperation in his tone. He was delirious, he wasn’t thinking straight--at least, not about anything other than just how bloody amazing this felt. His hands fisted the front of Weasley’s jacket and dragged him back. The redhead groaned in a combination of arousal and frustration against his lips before pulling away once more, tenderly gripping Draco’s wrists in order to stop him from doing it again. His eyes were glassy, dazed, and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath either, but he swallowed and said:

“I, u-uh, just...Maybe we should...In case they come back…”

Although he hated to admit it--especially right now--he realized, as his sense gradually returned to him, that Weasley was right. Seemed the spiders had truly moved on. Good, because Draco was pretty sure two eighteen-year-olds dry humping against a tree were the easiest target for a gigantic, man-eating arachnid in the entire world. And he knew that wasn't a theory they should attempt to test. Of course, that wasn’t to say he wasn’t terribly disappointed. He’d never had a bloke leave him wanting like this before, and that was a blow to his ego he hadn’t been prepared for. However, he was somewhat placated by the way Weasley had barely managed to stammer out that thought; coherency was clearly not coming easily to him at the moment, and that was all Draco’s fault, so he had to feel some pride about _that_ , at the very least.

It took them nearly another hour just to get back out. In their panic, they'd strayed much further from their original path than they'd realized, and every sudden noise forced them to stop and hide for a moment, in case the hoard was still tracking them. By the time they reached the exit, Filch waiting there to greet them, it was well past midnight. His quips about them “looking a right mess” went mostly ignored. They gave him the intel he was to report to McGonagall the next day and headed for the Lake, where the eighth year’s cabin had been erected, knowing full well they'd be dead on their feet all day tomorrow, and probably pants in any of their classes. And then, more likely than not, McGonagall would call them up to her office to explain yet _further_ what they’d witnessed, and thus the next few hours were going to be their only break for some time. Not to mention the reaming Draco was gearing up to give her when they did inevitably cross paths, about the fact that he and Weasley could’ve very well _died_ in that godforsaken forest. But all of that could wait till tomorrow. Right now he needed clean hair and a bed.

The common room was deserted, dark--and quiet as a church. Eerie in contrast to the commotion in the woods. The reality-shock of being back here, safe and sound, made Draco’s cheeks heat in embarrassment, to recall the way he'd behaved earlier. Throwing himself at a Weasley like that...He’d said he’d had standards, and he’d meant that. Not against the ginger himself, just...in the way he’d normally conduct himself with someone he found attractive. Because that was really what it came down to at this point...But he didn’t want to think about that. He felt dirty in more ways than one, standing here in the pristine and wholesome aura of their living space. He wanted to have a shower, possibly a wank, then crawl under his covers and forget that whole scene had ever even taken place.

“Well, thanks, Weasley, it was _riveting_ ,” he mumbled in irritation, attempting to save at least some face in the wake of his shame. Get the last word in, make them _bleed_ \--that’s how he’d always played it, how he’d been taught to play it. Even on the “Side of the Light,” he was still his father’s son.

“Malfoy.”

He straightened up at the way his name suddenly pierced the tension in the air, his hand having paused in reaching for the doorknob to the room he shared with Blaise and Theo, and turned to find Weasley standing a whole lot closer to him than he’d realized. Leaning away a bit, he raised an eyebrow and replied with a gruff, “What?”

“Shut up.”

Not as eloquent as he'd expected, but he knew that comment from earlier was going to get thrown back at him one way or another. What he _hadn't_ expected was to be further silenced by a strong hand cupping the back of his neck, lips pressing firmly against his own. However, he only allowed himself to be startled for a brief moment, before he was quickly leaning up into the kiss, pressing back for all he was worth. The way they’d left things in the Forest had had him feeling shunned, but this contact was like liquid fire in his veins. He whimpered quietly into Weasley’s mouth, and his partner’s grip on his neck tightened. He was half prepared to ask him if they wanted to try to take this somewhere else, but then the redhead was pulling away again. A final chaste peck told him there’d be another time--and much as he hated to be kept waiting, he decided he’d take that, because it was far more than he’d started with, anyway.

So it was that Draco found himself leaning against his bedroom door, starry-eyed and horny and seeing the same sentiments reflected right back in those bright blue irises as he waved a feeble goodbye. Weasley was grinning at him in that lopsided, affectionate way that Draco was more accustomed to seeing him direct at his friends than at the Slytherin himself. He had the sudden thought that it was the happiest he’d seen him all night.

“G’night, Ferret.”

“‘Night, Weasel.”

It was obvious in how both of them lingered in their opposite doorways that they were reluctant to go, but eventually they did. Draco ended up heading to bed slightly less peeved over having been given detention, and more curious as to when he was going to get another shot at having Weasley all to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/comments = <3!
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://ohlookagaydraco.tumblr.com/) and [LJ](http://fangqueen.livejournal.com/) as well!


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